


All The Way Down

by DandyDeCobray



Category: G.I. Joe (Cartoon), G.I. Joe - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, RAH based but movie is not canon, a little violence but nothing wild, bad guys make bad choices, m/m - Freeform, maskless CC headcanon, possessive jerk CC, rough makeouts, theyre villians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 16:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19321624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandyDeCobray/pseuds/DandyDeCobray
Summary: Destro's attempts to keep a professional distance between M.A.R.S. and the Cobra organization is going about as poorly as his attempts to keep space between himself and Cobra Commander.





	All The Way Down

The underwater base was in a tense lull after the preceding retreat and failure. Rooted deep under the black surface of international waters was one of Cobra’s seemingly countless hideouts. After their latest scheme ended in disaster, the core Cobra operatives were receding from the public eye, even vacating the usual gaudy monuments used as bases and instead regrouping under the waters. The unexpected failure set back the organization and had the world on high alert regarding any Cobra activity. The Commander had been in a tediously awful mood, completely dumbfounded that they had failed despite their bulletproof plan of kidnapping all of the world leaders to hold captive and force to fight in increasingly absurd gladiatorial games, all while being broadcast live across the world in an attempt to not only create political anarchy but to make a killing in charging for Pay-Per-View. 

At the core of the base was the war room, windowless with unnaturally crisp air and too bright fluorescent lights that resembled a sinister office more than an underwater terrorist hideout. After hours of chaos and insults and a rather useless collection of proposed solutions that were still written up on a board, the war room was vacated of all except two. The cramped room was suddenly long and harrowing without the warmth of disgruntled bodies or the cacophony of a dozen egos with wounded pride. 

Destro remained in the room long after being dismissed. He had intended the cutting of ties between M.A.R.S. and Cobra to be quick and clean, knowing well how Cobra Commander could slither his way into prolonging such a dispute. Destro was supposed to be halfway back to Scotland by now, leaving The Commander to a temper tantrum he didn’t want to be a part of, but naturally nothing could ever be so simple, and Destro knew it was naive of him to have even attempted.

The table between them held blueprints, schedules, months of planning typed up and scribbled over. Some files were stamped with Cobra’s bright red eyesore of a symbol, some with M.A.R.S. printed neatly in the center, others with both logos clashing in culmination of the madness that would come with their latest collaboration. Everything was laid out in paper and ink, but Cobra Commander’s piercing, steady gaze was fixed on Destro as if trying to drive a pin through his center. Destro stood, facing a stare wild and electric enough to speak for an entirely hidden face. 

“What do you mean you won’t be involved in phase two!?” The Commander snarled. He threw his hands out in his usual, violently spastic motions that threatened to throw off his hooded mask.

“Just exactly that, Commander,” Destro replied smoothly. “Had I known that this latest plan involved so much pompous nonsense on your part, I would have never been a part of it! I will not be here for your next embarrassment! You can call me when you come up with an actual strategy that is not rooted in your own deluded ego!”

“How dare you!” The Commander rose to his usual, enraged screech. “Don't you stand there and tell me you didn’t know what was going on, that you weren't a part of the planning and design, you chrome-headed moron!”

“You aren't going to goad me this time with your childish insults,” Destro said with as much ice as he could muster as he turned and headed towards the door. “Call me when you decide to act like a professional.”

“Destro!” The Commander grabbed at the back of one of the chairs lining the long meeting table. “Destro! Don’t you turn your back on me!”

The new level of petty fury rawed the Commander's voice enough that Destro had the foresight to turn back around in time for a chair to come launching towards him. Lunging backwards, Destro watched the chair clatter to the blue tile floor, then glared back up at the seething Commander.

“That is enough!” Destro’s shout rattled the room. “I’m sending for a pod back to the surface, and I want not another word about it!”

“You don’t make the orders!” The Commander snarled, lunging for another chair to chuck Destro’s way. “I am the Commander!”

Destro’s hand came to the chair before Cobra Commander could lift it. The hooded face glared up at him, narrow brown eyes locked with Destro’s. Destro could see the rest of his face just by the glare. He knew The Commander's expression was twisted into a scowl as loud and dramatic as he squawked, teeth bared, scar tissue pulling. 

“You are Cobra Commander,” Destro was punctuated with the scrape of metal against metal. He pulled the chair from the Commander's grasp, leaving nothing between the two of them. “And I am not part of Cobra, so you have no command over me.”

The Commander lashed forward, his little form moving faster than Destro could register, and in that flash Cobra Commander’s hands were at his thick metal throat. Leather strained as his gloved hands struggled, a useless feat against the ancient iron and modern steel that blended into the mask Destro wore, but Destro knew in an instant it was not meant to hurt, at least not yet. It was a gesture, a symbol. Cobra Commander clawed at Destro’s neck, his arms shaking with rage and effort. 

Destro could have crushed the man’s neck. He wore the hooded mask, which Destro knew was free of all of the traps that the deceitfully weaponized faceplate hid away. But it was a dare, one Destro would not take, and instead his hand grasped one of The Commander’s wrists. There was a hiss as Destro’s grip tightened enough that The Commander’s fingers uncurled from his throat, and he let out a rasped gasp as Destro jerked him forward by that arm. 

“Professional business conduct as always, dear Commander,” Destro sneered. “And you wonder why I’m taking this leave.”

“You have no loyalty, Destro!” Cobra Commander hissed up at Destro.

“Bah!” In a single, hulking motion, Destro threw Cobra Commander back. With a shrill cry, The Commander hit the long war room table, papers and files flying behind him. “Loyalty! You dare question my loyalty, Commander? I’ve invested more money and more of my valuable time into this sinking circus ship that you call an organization than any other! You’re the one who would double cross me if it meant staking another absurd snake flag somewhere!”

Still on shaky heels, Cobra Commander gripped the table and straightened himself back up, glowering at Destro from behind his askew hood. 

“I want no part of your next endeavor,” Destro went on, jaw set. 

“I need support!” Cobra Commander broke back in, shoving himself off of the table’s edge to raise a fist at Destro. “Weapons! The next faze of this plan depends on M.A.R.S.!”

“The next faze of this plan is filing it into your ever growing documented failures!” Destro retorted. “And leaving me to recover financially and socially while your organization licks its wounds from another world-wide embarrassment at my expense!”

“And what if I don’t let you!”

Destro gave a short bark of a laugh then turned. “Then I suppose I’ll have to find another megalomaniac to let throw money my way.”

“No.” Cobra Commander's throaty voice had steadied suddenly enough for Destro to stop mid step. “What if I don't let you leave?”

Another laugh, and Destro spared Cobra Commander a glance back. Destro’s gloating smile faded. The white and dull red face was striking against the dull blue of the room, a shadow darker than his uniform. The Commander was unhooded, revealing the malformed result of a long past explosion from his civilian life tampering with used cars, a story The Commander often told in dark humor. Destro had seen the barefaced Commander a handful of times, more frequently now with the increased complications regarding their partnership after hours. Despite having been with The Commander in less professional lights, Destro still struggled to keep his gaze steady on the waxy burn scars that destroyed the lower half of his face. Scrap metal had torn off the nose and left a gaping hole in the cheek, exposing his teeth in a permanent grimace cut into his face. In the dim war room, Cobra Commander’s ghastly face struck against the monotonous blue that his uniform could seemingly fade into. The hood hung in one black hand, leaving Destro petrified as Cobra Commander stared back at him.

“Are you threatening me?” Destro finally spoke.

“Are you talking about my words or my face?” Cobra Commander settled back, hand on hip, with a bitter, bemused cackle. Destro knew the campy stance and words were hollow, the gaze was the very same from the glimpses of ire that the narrow cut outs had shown him earlier.

“Be serious for once in your pathetic life, Commander.”

“I am serious, dear Destro,” Cobra Commander said with half of a smirk that Destro often knew he could hear when behind the mask. As if reading Destro’s thoughts, Cobra Commander rose the hood, displaying it, “Here, this is my serious face.”

“Oh shut up!’ Destro retorted and swatted The Commander’s hand away. “Don’t play coy!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of that, Destro,” The Commander spoke between his teeth. Another step forward, and The Commander was close to Destro, too close. Destro hunched backwards to avoid touching chests. “That would be unprofessional.”

“And you’d know nothing of that!” Destro scoffed, and Cobra Commander’s exposed grin fell.

“I ought to forbid you from coming back, as this was entirely your fault to begin with,” The Commander hissed, scarred face twisting.

Destro sputtered. “My fault-!?”

“But unlike you, I know a little something about loyalty to Cobra, to my fellow partners!”

“You’d sell me if you had the chance!” 

“Oh you're hardly worth your own weight, Destro!” Cobra Commander hissed up at him. “I’m just a good businessman, a loyal one, unlike what you make me out to be!”

Perhaps Destro was not as great of a businessman as he had imagined himself to be, he thought vaguely to himself as he realized he had struck the Commander across the face. Cobra Commander held his face, gloved hand pressed to the mutilated cheek Destro has struck. Destro reeled, realizing with a twinge of unease that he felt faint pain from where his hand had struck teeth exposed by the old tear in The Commander's flesh. 

There was a moment, a rare pause in the eccentric wrath of Cobra Commander. The two stood in a strained silence as The Commander drew himself back up, hand pressed on his face and shoulder-length, tied back hair falling out of place. If colliding his jaw against the metal of Destro’s faceplate hurt, the usually whiny commander did not show it. Whatever sound was rasping from deep in The Commander’s strained throat was one of the brand of fury that had lead Destro into such a predicament an illogical amount of times previously. No chance of a short, clean break, despite the intent in confronting The Commander. Destro was soon suffocating in loathing, tainted by what could only be some hate-fueled lust. The room seemed to press onto them despite its size and emptiness. He wasn’t sure what part of him was fighting and what part was kissing, but he never seemed able to draw that line when it came to The Commander. Destro’s mouth clashed against his, hands having caught Cobra Commander and were someplace between gripping and clawing at the man’s form as he felt rough, foreign touches all over himself. He was certain he heard his name being growled, perhaps moaned, as he pushed Cobra Commander back against the table.

Not nearly benign enough to be routine, not nearly unusual enough to be spontaneous, the two fell into something that was usual and strange and theirs. Every so often their fights took a hard swerve, and lead them both half clothed and bruised with little progress made. They unknowingly followed their patterns on cue, all under the guise of Cobra and M.A.R.S. The illusion of control was something that haunted Destro. In Cobra, in M.A.R.S., in all assets of his life, Destro relied on his steady tactics. But there was no place for such control or steadiness with Cobra Commander.

Cobra Commander submitted to him in position and nothing more. Bites and hisses and mewls were nothing more than a charade in hopes to keep Destro from truly taking in what was being uttered. Destro knew, in his silence, the illusion of submission. Destro could feel the words against The Commander’s mouth, he could hear the threats staggering between growls and moans and hollow bickering. “You are not going anywhere”, it wasn’t concerning the heated room, some ploy to urge Destro to follow through on what had sprung in the heated moment. Destro knew this well. The acid of their fight still eroded any niceties, and ate at the wedge Destro tried desperately to keep between himself and Cobra, and by extension, The Commander.

But it always seemed to go in such a way. Illusions hardly hidden, with Destro well aware to not take the weight of The Commander’s words for granted. Still, teeth collided in some attempt at a violently intimate way of shutting the other up. A svelte leg hooked around Destro’s muscular waist, pulling him closer, crushing The Commander between Destro and the table. Their hot breaths where shallow and ragged against one another. 

“You belong to Cobra, Destro,” the words were growled, wet and throaty, as Destro clawed a hand through untied ash-brown hair. 

“I belong to no one,” Destro retorted with a tug at the back of Cobra Commander’s hair to expose his pallid neck. “Especially not you!”

Laughter creaked out of The Commander alongside sharp hisses as Destro ravaged his neck. Fingers clawed open The Commander’s shirt, letting Destro go lower.

“If you try to leave again, you will,” Cobra Commander chimed in a hoarse, crackled voice as Destro pressed against him. “Mark my words.”

Fuming, Destro bit down onto the shoulder he had been kissing at, making The Commander twist up under him with a snarl. He held the small, thrashing man under him, biting harder into skin. The thrashing and flailing turned into something of a roll against Destro’s form. They fell into a sort of raw rhythm, moving against one another with every bite sinking into Cobra Commander’s reddened skin, drawing out a slew of noises from The Commander and tightening the grip he had around Destro’s shoulders.

Destro swept away the files as he pressed The Commander further up onto the table. There were so many more devious and sinister plans that The Commander would never set into writing. They were only breaths, heated threats uttered without any foresight, “You cannot leave”. Destro knew that The Commander had dozens of plans tucked away in his warped mind. It wasn’t what kept him in the room, nor what would have M.A.R.S.’ paperwork neatly stacked and stapled and filed away in the Cobra archives once more. 

Destro pulled up for a moment, rapsing for air after what seemed like many long minutes entangled. “Your foolishness and ego will sink your entire organization someday soon!” Destro snarled down at Cobra Commander. “And I will not be there to save it!”

A possessive tug brought Destro's head back down, where his mouth was claimed against by the rough, bruising kiss. Cobra Commander gripped Destro’s shoulders hard enough that the leather of his gloves strained, and bit into the pliable mouthpiece of Destro’s mask. Destro too would drown, some part of him realized this, the part of him that fought against it, thrashing. Some part of him also knew it was doing nothing to help though, if anything, Destro could feel himself spiral down faster with each quiet threat he felt against his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> My new favorite pastime is writing stuff like this while watching the cartoon for immense shame and confusion.


End file.
